"Dis mawnin', suh, befo' sun-up." "Was any one else here?" "No, Marse. Ain' ben nobody up hyuh sence dee fust snow-fall." Sevier was silent a moment, his eyes fixed on the black, affectionate face. "Jube--bring me the things I--had on." The other crossed the room and came back with a suit which he laid on the blanket. Sevier shook his head feebly. "Not those. The--others." Jubilee Jim hesitated, then turned and left the room. When he came back the striped garments were in his hands. "Do you--know what--those are?" The faithful, old face turned a little away. "Ah reck'n dem am some new-fangelly fishin'-close," he said, after a pause. A faint flicker of a smile touched the sick man's face. He understood. "Put them--into--the fire." Sevier watched him, as he obeyed. He was very weak and his blood, poisoned from the opened wound, was throbbing with fever. He was preserving consciousness only by a great effort, but his gaze held Jubilee Jim's steadily. "Jube, I want--no one to--know when I--came, or that I--am here--at all ... _No one_ ... Do you--understand?" "Yas, suh." "I'm going--to be--sick. But--no matter--how sick I--no one is to--be brought here ... not a doctor ... nor--any one." Harry's strength was failing now, and the words trailed into indistinctness. "Yas, Marse Harry." "I ... trust you ... Jube!" That was all. He was gone again into the fevered delirium. All that night, and for many days and nights thereafter, old Jubilee Jim, faithful to his word, struggled with death over the body of Harry Sevier. CHAPTER XXXVI JUBILEE JIM'S JOURNEY Harry stood in the doorway of the Bungalow, one hand shading his eyes, looking down the twisting trail to where, far below, a dark blotch toiled up the slope. During three days he had been alone, for Jubilee Jim had gone upon a journey to the city where lay the old life from which Harry had fled on the day he had ceased to be himself. The snows were gone and an early spring day of azure and gold lay over the satiny stillness of the folded hills. The fresh, pleasant air was full of the whirr of birds and the smell of new bark and bursting buds, the slender birches were unfurling the virginal green of their young leaves, and here and there on the hillsides blossoms were showing. All nature was fulfilling its annual mission of rebirth, audaciously triumphing over autumn's death and winter's sepulture.